Hooked: A Hockey Romance

by Abby Donne

  “I know.”

  They hung up just as Heath strolled through the door, catching Tyson in mid arm pump. Bad mood completely obliterated, he announced, “That was Jordan. A scout from the Royals is going to be at our first game.”

  “No shit! Dude, that is going to be so awesome.”

  Tyson nodded and pulled up his YouTube app. “He told me about this kid, Lincoln Anderson, from MT. Ever heard of him?”

  “Nah. I’m not worried.”

  “He’s a beast, I guess.” Tyson tapped on the first video and flipped his phone so they could watch together. It was some game footage, just a few minute’s worth, and by the end it was obvious why his agent’s dick was hard over the kid.

  But Heath still said, “Yeah. Not worried.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m not letting anything fuck with my head this season.” He gave Tyson a pointed look that really started to harsh his vibe. “And neither should you?”

  “Yeah, what’s that supposed to mean?” He shot back.

  “That maybe you should take a step back from Layla.” There was a challenge in his friend’s eyes that made him uneasy.

  “There isn’t anything between us.”

  “Exactly. It’s fucking with your head. You need to get laid and forget about her, dude. She’s cool and all, and she’s super hot –”

  “You’re pushing it.”

  Heath pointed a finger at Tyson and shook his head. “Exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t owe this chick anything. You’re really going to let her mess with your head during the most important season of your life?”

  Tyson repeated himself. “There isn’t anything going on between us. She’s not fucking with my head.”

  “That’s not what Emma says.”

  “Seriously?” Tyson snorted. He was doing his best to stay on that emotional high from talking to Jordan. “You want to preach about not getting involved with someone before the season but you’re cozying up with some chick and didn’t even tell me.”

  “This is like an episode of Gilmore Girls,” Steve said as he walked in from the kitchen. “Can you pause so I can get popcorn?”

  “Fuck off. What the hell is Gilmore Girls?” Heath grumbled.

  Steve shrugged. “My sister watches it. I don’t know.”

  So did Tyson’s sisters. He wasn’t going to admit he knew what the show was so he crossed his arms. “Should we paint our nails together and watch it while we gossip about my fucking love life?”

  “Pretty quick conversation,” Steve snorted, reaching over for a high five from Heath.

  Bouncing back like a rubber band, there was a smile on his friend’s face again. “Hell yeah. And for your information, you nosey little bitch, Emma and I are just talking. She’s going through some shit.”

  “We don’t just talk to chicks,” Steve tossed out, his eyebrows wrinkled.

  “Well just leaving her there to cry fucking felt weird. I mean, I tried getting some titty pics.”

  “This is the most mentally stimulating conversation I’ve had all week, but I have shit to do.” Tyson started heading for the stairs. As much as Heath’s comments poked at a part of him – the part that knew everything he was saying was true – he really wasn’t all that bothered by them. They’d been friends long enough to know when to push. He tossed over his shoulder, “Hey, you want to run and get some shit to grill? I’ll give you my card.”

  “Celebrating already. Nice,” Heath said. He nodded his head in approval.

  “I totally missed something.”

  Tyson backtracked to the two and pulled out his wallet. He didn’t have a shit-ton of money, but his portion of the bills were paid and there were a couple hundred bucks in his account. Heath was kind of an idiot, but he was a damn savvy shopper. Dude had a coupon binder and whipped it out with zero shame. Tyson trusted him not to blow all his money on steaks and booze.

  He slapped his card in Heath’s hand and jogged up the stairs, the retelling of his conversation with Jordan fading out as he closed his bedroom door. He pulled out his phone again hit his recently dialed, scrolling a few entries down.

  “Hey, Dad, you’ll never believe what Jordan just called about…”

  Still running on adrenaline from his agent’s call Wednesday night, it wasn’t all that hard for Tyson’s roommates to convince him to go out Wednesday night. Sure, they had practice at five am and he had class starting at eight. Not to mention if Coach found out they were drinking during the week like idiots they’d all be doing suicide sprits until they puked blood. It was all justified with an easy ‘it will be an early night’ and a ‘we can pre-game at home and hit the bar early’. Pre-gaming turned into a game of street hockey, which didn’t work out all that well on their relatively busy road, and beer pong at five in the evening.

  Wanting a pretty low key drinking experience, mostly so nobody snitched to Coach, they caught an Uber across town to a bar the locals visited called Cherry Tavern. Tyson had never visited but Nate swore by the place. Nobody batted an eye when the four of them stumbled in on the cusp of being wasted and headed for an empty pool table near the patio. None of them were particularly good at pool, especially after a few drinks, but the breeze coming in from the propped door felt good and there wasn’t shit else to do since there weren’t any games running on a damn Wednesday night.

  But it was still a damn good night. Some good old classic rock jams were playing, he was cradling a longneck, and he was with his boys. That didn’t even touch the Jordan call. Over the last twenty four hours Tyson had done nothing but pump himself up over the possibility of getting drafted to the Royals. Getting drafted anywhere, honestly. The chances were slim, but they were there. If he let himself dwell on the percentages or the nerves he’d lose it. Maybe he was distracting himself from the anxiety by not giving himself a moment of silence – a moment to be alone and think – but Tyson didn’t want anything to fuck up their opener.

  “You’ll never guess who the fuck just walked in,” Heath announced after getting back from a bathroom trip. His elbow jabbed into Tyson’s side when he didn’t respond. “Look at the bar.”

  So he did, and something red and angry clawed at his throat. Something that he had no business feeling.

  Layla, somehow looking as beautiful as ever in short shorts and a t shirt, was wrapped in some dude’s arms absolutely beaming up at him. The guy was a solid foot taller than her and while he didn’t look like he was a gym rat, he wasn’t a twig either. From the pool table Tyson couldn’t make out much about the guy other than he was wearing all black and was covered in tattoos. His hair was dark, of course, and styled like he wanted people to think he just rolled out of bed that way but he totally didn’t. Most importantly, he was grinning down at Layla.

  Tyson’s mouth was dry. He finished off his beer, his eyes never leaving Layla and the hipster prick. After a few seconds of working things out he was pretty confident he would win in a fight. He was five the first time he ever knocked someone on their ass on the ice – though it was mostly because the kid was uncoordinated and didn’t really know how to balance – so it wasn’t a long stretch to say he could get a few swings in on the dude who still had an arm around Layla.

  “You look like you’re going to have an heart attack,” Steve laughed. His glassy eyes followed Tyson’s to the bar. “Huh. That dude looks familiar.”

  “Everyone looks familiar to you when you’re drunk,” Nate said, his eyes squinted at the bar.

  “I’m not drunk. Fuck off.”

  Being the supportive friend he was, Heath added, “I was going to say it looks like he has to fart.”

  Ignoring them all Tyson headed for the bar. Headed for Layla. If he weren’t so determined to talk to her he would’ve realized how pathetic he was acting, but he’d jerked off to the sound of her moan so many times since Monday night he was pretty sure his dick was going to fall off. He needed to know who she was with and better yet, why she was pretending like she didn’t almost come
grinding against him.

  She didn’t see him until he was standing right next to them.

  “What are you doing here?” He asked, playing cool as he eyed down the bartender. Tyson really didn’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it did.

  “Tyson, hi.” She totally ignored his question. Whatever.

  He asked for another Sam Adams before lazily looking over and up, right into the black eyes of the guy who’d only tightened his grip on Layla. Total psycho.

  “Hey,” He finally said. He dropped his gaze back down to Layla. She fidgeted in the dude’s arms, trying to slide out.

  When he wouldn’t let go she scowled up at him, “Seriously? Don’t be a dick tonight.”

  “Maybe leave her alone,” Tyson suggested.

  “Maybe fuck off,” The guy countered, raising an eyebrow.

  She elbowed him. “Wade, stop.”

  “Wade?” Why did that name sound so familiar? He’d heard it before. Seen it before. Yeah! He saw it on her phone one day, flashing big and bold right before she tucked it away. Didn’t explain why it stuck out so prominently, though, and the harder he dug the more lost the connection became. He was grasping at straws, and it annoyed him. It annoyed him more than he already was and the buzz from Jordan’s call was wearing off. And because he couldn’t help but puff his chest out around Layla, he shrugged and met her eyes. “Are you really at a bar with some dude after Monday night? I know we didn’t get to finish –”

  “You better watch your fucking mouth.”

  His arm wasn’t around Layla anymore. Nope, it was planted firmly on Tyson’s chest. Mission accomplished.

  “Wade,” Layla protested. Her hand covered his on Tyson’s chest as she tried tugging it away. Just the brush of her fingertips felt so damn good. It didn’t even matter that those fingers were wrapped around another dude’s hand.

  “Yeah, Wade,” Tyson poked, smirking. “Wouldn’t want to make her mad would you?”

  She shot him a look that did more to make his dick hard than warn him off. “Shut the hell up.”

  “Yo, what’s going on over here?” Heath’s voice trickled into the conversation. Totally ignoring the vibes he gave a little head nod. “Sup, Layla? Hey, did you read that shit for class tomorrow? I can’t get past the first paragraph. It’s fucking boring.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” The dude- Wade – grit out. His hand wasn’t on Tyson’s chest anymore. It was balled at his side.

  Again, not threatening in the slightest.

  “Just saying ‘hi’. Plus things were looking a little tense and I can’t have my boy showing up to practice with a black eye because I sure as hell am not going to get punished because he turns into a little bitch around Layla,” Heath said, oblivious to the fact that it was a rhetorical question.

  “Shut up,” Wade grunted.

  Is this what Layla liked? The whole fucking mopey boy routine? Mumbling and shuffling around like a giant loaf?

  “Jesus Christ,” Layla snapped. Tyson had to admit, it was pretty hot. Hot all the way up until she pinned those machine gun eyes on him and said, “He’s my brother, you fucking idiot.”

  She left, a sneering Wade not far behind.

  Yeah, he was a fucking idiot alright.

  chapter ten

  She could feel her brother’s questioning gaze from across the booth, but Layla ignored it and continued to push around her slice of pancake until it was bloated with syrup and falling apart with every awful scrape of her fork against the plate. Wade was never good at confrontations. Neither was she, apparently.

  Layla hated the tension stretching between them almost as much as she hated the quiet so she said flippantly, “I can’t believe I got you out of bed before seven am.”

  “Haven’t slept yet.”

  “What?” She frowned, finally looking up. “We have plans today. I don’t want you to be pissy or sleep through them.”

  “Plans like browsing a comic book store even though neither of us likes comics and trying out three different coffee shops?”

  That was their itinerary the previous day. After months of promising her a few days of his time and canceling he finally stuck to his word. It was only the second time he’d visited her in Stanberry since she started school. He showed up a few hours later than she anticipated, in typical Wade fashion, but she still had time to show him around town. They had fun. At least she thought they had fun.

  “I had fun yesterday. I’m sorry it wasn’t a fucking tour of Berlin.” She picked up her phone. Thirty minutes until she needed to be in Jackie’s class. Forty minutes until Jackie actually showed up. She needed to blow some more time, but she didn’t want to hang around an IHOP being miserable any longer. Muttering, she added, “I don’t even know why I try anymore.”

  “Layla, I didn’t mean it like that. C’mon.”

  No, you did. It’s okay, though, I’m used to it.”

  “Seriously?” He huffed. He pushed his plate to the edge of their table. “Why are you acting like this?”

  “You ever stop to think that maybe I miss you and I have fun doing stupid shit with you because you’re my brother? I’m not ‘acting’ like anything. I finally got you to visit me and you’re being an ass. Maybe you should just go home early.”

  “No. Fuck that.”

  “You’ve already mocked my plans, so obviously you aren’t interested.”

  “Whatever. I am too interested in spending time with you. I’ll sleep when you’re in class and then we can do whatever you want.”

  “Whatever asinine thing I want to do right?”

  “You’re such a brat,” Wade commented, his lip snarling a bit. That paired with the tone of his voice and her lack of sleep had Layla almost in tears. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him, especially for something so stupid.

  “And you’re such an asshole. Full disclosure, I was going to take you to my favorite vintage shop in town. There’s a record store right next to it and this really cool vegan place I thought we could have dinner at. Tree Bar does a battle of the bands type thing on Thursday nights so I figured we could check that out, too.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “I’m not!” His laugh wasn’t comical. His features deflated and he rubbed his jaw. “Look, Layla, I’m sorry okay? I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I’m tired. Just let me take a nap and by the time you’re done with class I’ll be more than happy to go with wherever.”

  “Even if I wanted to get ice cream and take a dozen Snapchats of it?”

  He winced but nodded, showing her just how serious he was. “Whatever you want.”

  Because life was too short and she barely saw Wade she decided to take his form of an apology. He did say he was sorry. At least that was her way of justifying taking whatever it was her brother offered her. Table scraps of time but she did miss him and she loved him. It wasn’t like this wasn’t exactly what their relationship had been like for the last twenty one years. Wade always had bigger and better things to do.

  “Okay, but let’s go. I want you pissing sunshine this afternoon.”

  Layla showed up to class five minutes late on one of the rare days Jackie was on time. Ignoring the scowl from the front of the room and the scowl coming from the asshole who sat next to her, she sat down and pulled out her folder and notebook as fast as possible. There was a prompt sprawled across the whiteboard –

  You are showering one morning when you notice a tattoo on your body that you're quite sure you don't remember getting. What is it, how did you get it, and what does it mean?

  – and everyone was writing, so she gave herself two seconds to think before starting to write bullshit on the page. Even if she wanted to put any thought behind her story it was nearly impossible to focus with Tyson’s foot tapping against hers under the table.

  “Stop it,” She hissed under her breath, scooting her foot back.

  “Only five more minutes. I suggest you all save your commen
ts until we’re workshopping,” Jackie nearly sang. Layla didn’t have to look up to know she was talking to her.

  A few seconds passed before a torn off piece of scrap paper inched its way into her sightline. It took all of her willpower to ignore it. It was harder to ignore when it was shoved on top of her notebook.

  Are you mad?

  How absurd. She snorted and masked it as a cough. Crumbling the note in her hand she leaned back and tossed it in the nearby waste bin. That wasn’t even a question she could answer even if she wanted to.

  Yeah, she was mad when Tyson basically accused her of being a slut. Mad that he thought such awful things about her and voiced them to her goddamn brother. Mad he looked so fucking sexy when he was jealous. Mad she spent the night torn between crying and touching herself to the very new fantasy of Tyson fucking her nice and dirty in a bathroom bar.

  She spent the next five minutes doing her best to ignore the way his leg rested against hers. Flustered beyond belief, when Jackie called time she only had a few sentences etched out on her paper. Desperate for just a few moments of sanity she looked across the table at Pete.

  “Wanna be my partner today?” She asked. She probably looked as desperate as she sounded.

  “Sorry, Layla. He’s my partner,” Heath responded as he ripped the notebook from Pete’s hands.

  Pete looked like he’d rather be anywhere but there. He shrugged and said, “What can I say, I’m a masochist.”

  “You’re not my type, Pete,” Heath said. He sounded serious.

  “Right back at’cha, man.”

  Tyson tapped his foot against hers. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

  “Guess so,” She echoed, reaching for his papers.

  His fingers laced around her wrist, stopping her from pulling back. It shocked her enough that she finally looked up. God, he was hot. More than hot. Tyson was handsome in a way that literally stole her breath. The normal air of confidence around him was gone, though, and for the first time since they met she wondered if that was vulnerability she saw peeking through his cracks.